s! Poor stuff. Happened to catch people's eyes. Who told
you about them?"

"Some man--I forget. And what are you doing now?"

"Oh, nothing. A little black-and-white for that thing," he pointed
contemptuously to the paper. "Keeps me from idleness."

"Where are you going to live?"

"I don't know. I shall find a garret somewhere. Do you know of one
about here?"

Olga's eyes chanced to meet a glance from Otway. She moved, hesitated,
and rose from her chair. Kite and the Italian gazed at her, then cast a
look at each other, then both looked at Otway, who had at once risen.

"Do you walk home?" said Piers, stepping towards her.

"I'd better have a cab."

It was said in a quietly decisive tone, and Piers made no reply. Both
took leave with few words. Olga descended the stairs rapidly, and,
without attention to her companion, turned at a hurried pace down the
dark street. They had walked nearly a hundred yards when she turned her
head and spoke.

"Can't you suggest some way for me to earn my living? I mean it. I must
find something."

"Have you spoken to your uncle about it?" asked Piers mechanically.

"No; it's difficult. If I could go to him with something definite."

"Have you spoken to your cousin?"

Olga delayed an instant, and answered with an embarrassed abruptness.

"She's gone to Paris."

Before Piers could recover from his surprise, she had waved to an empty
hansom driving past.

"Think about it," she added, "and write to me. I must do something.
This life of loneliness and idleness is unbearable."

And Piers thought; to little purpose, for his mind was once more turned
to Irene, and it cost him a painful effort to dwell upon Olga's
circumstances. He postponed writing to her, until shame compelled him,
and the letter he at length despatched seemed so empty, so futile, that
he could not bear to think of her reading it. With astonishment he
received an answer so gratefully worded that it moved his heart. She
would reflect on the suggestions he had made; moreover, as he advised,
she would take counsel frankly with the Doctor; and, whatever was
decided, he should hear at once. She counted on him as a friend, a true
friend; in truth, she had no other. He must continue to write to her,
but not often, not more than once a fortnight or so. And let him be
assured that she never for a moment forgot her lifelong debt to him.

This last sentence referred, no doubt, to her mother's letters. Dr.
Derwent, it s